


Principium

by totheextentthat



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Awkward Conversations, BDSM, D/s, Developing Relationship, Early Days, F/M, Hair-pulling, Kink Negotiation, Late Night Conversations, Light BDSM, Mild Kink, Relationship Negotiation, Season/Series 07, Wine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 06:16:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6144224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/totheextentthat/pseuds/totheextentthat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She wasn't planning on telling him, but somehow he figured it out on his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Principium

**Author's Note:**

> Ever since watching Never Again, I've had a firm belief that Scully has been concealing a seriously kinky bent. I imagined that Mulder would call her on it somewhere in the wonderland of late season seven secret sex ("SSSS"), so here we are. If there's interest, this may blossom into a series!
> 
> This is my second fic ever, so please be kind! :)

He reached up to tuck a strand of red hair behind her ear, and his hand lingered to trace her jawline.  Eyes smiling, she leaned in and her chin tipped up invitingly.  He bent down to accept the invitation, kissing her gently, slowly, at first.  As the heat rose inside him, one hand moved to the back of her neck, and the other to her waist.  He pulled her into him and felt her body arch into his chest.  

After a moment, he broke the kiss and sat back, shaking his head.  Scully’s face shifted to concern, and he whispered softly, “Scully... we can’t keep doing this.”

She stood, abrupt, and wooden. “I’ll go.  We don’t have to talk about it.”

He touched her shoulder.  “No, Scully -- “

She shrugged off his hand, all business.  “Let’s not make this difficult.  We’re both adults. I’m fine.”  She reached for her coat.

“Scully, please.  Stop.  What I meant is, we can’t keep doing this _without_ talking.”  

She paused for a moment, brow furrowed, then sighed, and dropped the coat back onto Mulder’s chair.  “Okay.  Is this you worrying I’m going to want space for a toothbrush and a blow dryer?”

“I figured first priority was the desk.”  Mulder smirked.  “No, this is me thinking that we’ve done this same thing, which has been top notch, mind you, but we’ve done this same thing about ten times without ever talking about it.  One of us comes over to the other’s place with a bottle of wine, we find ourselves spending the night together in activities soundly prohibited by the FBI fraternization guidelines, and the next morning it’s like it never happened.”

Scully frowned and but before she could respond, Mulder continued.  “Look, we don’t have to sort out everything tonight or ever, necessarily, but there’s something I do want to sort out now, first.” He struggled for a moment.  “I have to know what you want.  Because I’ve got some ideas, but I need to hear it from you.”

She sat back down on the couch next to him, and arched an eyebrow.  “What I want, like, in a relationship?”

“No,” he said, “what you want, like, in an evening.  I want to know what you dream about, what you fantasize about, what you _want_.”

Scully laughed and her eyes softened.  “Mulder, I’ve been enjoying myself just fine.  You don’t have to worry about me.”

He shook his head, “That’s not an answer, that’s a dodge.”

Scully’s smile tightened.  “Mulder, I…”  She trailed off, laughing nervously.

“Because, Scully, I have this notion that it’s actually something very specific that you want.  I couldn’t tell you why, but I have a notion.”

She said nothing for a few tense seconds, staring intently at the carpet.

He slid his hand up the back of her neck and twined his fingers in her hair, suddenly making a fist against her scalp, grabbing her tightly.  She gasped and stared at him unmoving, eyes wide.  Time stopped, and the only sound was of her breath, coming fast and shallow from parted lips.

He bent close to her, and softly spoke. “I have a notion you don't like being in charge.”

Her eyes immediately flicked down and her cheeks flushed.

“Look at me.”

“Mulder, I…”

He pulled her head back.

“I told you to look at me.”

She looked at him.

“Look at me, and don’t move.  Will you do that for me?”

A beat.

“Will you?”

He could barely hear the quiet “yes” she breathed.

Without breaking her gaze, he slipped a warm hand inside her starched cotton shirt, and inside a soft lace brassiere.  A smile flickered across his face.  He cupped a breast with his hand, and his searching fingers quickly found a hard nipple.  He played with it gently, and heard her breath catch as her body responded and her eyes began to close.  

His fist squeezed in her hair, and she sucked in a breath quickly.  Her eyes popped open.  

Slowly and deliberately, he said, “Look at me when I’m touching you.”

With great difficulty, Scully kept her eyes open and stared into what felt like an entirely unfamiliar pair of eyes: flinty and unyielding.  She felt adrenaline like white fire coursing through her, and her heartbeat pounded in her ears.  Mulder began again to move his fingers back and forth over her breast, and she felt a soft involuntary moan rise from her throat.

“Much better.”

He pulled his hand reluctantly from the warmth of her chest, and watched a mix of disappointment and relief cross her face.  He stroked her flushed cheek, and lightly ran his fingers over her parted lips.  Two fingers slipped into her mouth.  

“Be a good girl, now.”

With a the ghost of a mischievous smile, Scully ran her tongue along the pads of his fingers, tasting the rough salt of his skin as he pressed deeper and deeper into her.   

After a few moments, Mulder withdrew his fingers, drawing a slow line down her chin and her throat.  He released her hair, and sat back.  Scully looked at him with appreciative surprise.

“Tell me now,” he said.  

Incredulous, she whispered,  “Mulder, you know the answer.  How could you tell I like this… this sort of thing?”

“I suspected it the first night we spent together.  I think I have a better idea now.  But here’s the thing: what I did just now was risky and stupid, and it’s really just by the grace of the King or your guy up there that my somewhat educated hunch was right and you didn’t respond to my really quite forward overture by shooting me on general principles.  Scully, that was fucking amazing what just happened, but let me tell you something, If you don’t tell me what it is you want, at least the broad strokes of it, I promise you that I will never, ever, ever do it again.”

She grimaced.  “I’m terrible at talking about this stuff.  And it doesn’t matter anyways when you already know….” A sly smirk. “I wouldn’t really object to another forward overture.” She smiled hesitantly. “You really like this too?”

He raised an eyebrow innocently.  “Like what?”

“Please, Mulder.”

“I like it when you say please, but I’ve been clear, Scully.  Crystal.  Tell me.  Just a sentence, that’s all it’ll take.”

She shifted uncomfortably. “Why do we have to play games about this?”  
  
“ _We_ don’t have to do anything.   _You_ have to tell me something -- that is, if you want to open that door again.  Otherwise, let’s just pop the cork on that Valpolicelli Ripasso you brought, and I’ll play nice, no hard feelings.”

Scully muttered, “It’s stupid, Mulder.”

“It’s not stupid, Scully.  It’s a part of you, and therefore, it is both extremely interesting and worthy of further research."

“I just feel like some kind of chauvinist cliché.”  Scully rolled her eyes. “Strong professional woman who needs…” She trailed off.

“Who needs…?”

She took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, releasing as much tension as she could.  

In a small voice, Scully attempted clinical detachment.  “...who enjoys recreationally giving up a certain degree of… power, control, or authority.”

Mulder feigned revelation.  “Ah, now I see, Dr. Scully!”

“ _Don’t_ make fun of me.”

He nodded in smiling acknowledgment, and then returned to seriousness.  “Thank you,” he said.  She visibly relaxed.  Before she could respond, he added, “But I do have a few questions.”  She sighed.  

“‘Enjoys,” Scully, or ‘needs?’  Which one is it?”

“‘Need’s a funny fish, it makes people untruthful.’”

He looked at her quizzically.

“Salman Rushdie, sorry.  I don’t think something can truly be a need if you don’t get it for the better part of 34 years and you’re still alive and kicking.” She paused thoughtfully. “But it’s a desperate want.  And it’s a part of me I can’t seem to get away from no matter how much I try.  I can’t forget it, I can’t ignore it, and I can’t change it.  At least not for all that long.”

“Have you tried indulging it, instead?”

“Sure, a little, here and there.  I’ve had boyfriends hold my wrists down when we’ve made love -- been blindfolded with a scarf and fed strawberries.  Very romantic, but messier than you’d expect.  I’ve enjoyed it all, but it still feels like play-acting more than indulging.  It’s hard…  hard to let myself go - get out of my own head.”

Softly, he asked her, “You want to let go?”

She quietly nodded.

“You don’t want to have to think?”

A nod.

“Let me hear your answers.”  
  
“Yes.”

“You want to not have to make decisions?”

“Yes.”

“You want to give up control to someone else?”

“Yes.”

“You want that with me tonight, Scully?”

She looked at him with hungry eyes. “Yes.  Please.”

“Your safeword is Einstein.  Now stand up.”

She did.


End file.
